Tales Tall and True

By Philip Rintoul

Philip Rintoul shares his love of fictional short stories. Terse and powerful prose conveys the stories and vignettes of life of how people rise and cope with their challenges. From the carefree newlyweds in ‘Wedge-Tail’ to the gritty demands of business in ‘Mad Friday’ and the shadowy world of ‘Retired Geezer’, each story aims to engage and entertain the reader.
This collection was written about people, places and events in Australia in 2018.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Apr 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781528986496

Philip Rintoul

Philip Rintoul lives with his family in the Perth Hills of Western Australia. A graduate of Curtin University, Western Australia, he has worked as an accountant and lecturer. He is a writer who travels, likes his neighbourhood and is pleased to share his first collection of ten short stories with readers who enjoy tales tall and true.

Book preview

Geezer

About the Author

Philip Rintoul lives with his family in the Perth Hills of Western Australia. A graduate of Curtin University, Western Australia, he has worked as an accountant and lecturer. He is a writer who travels, likes his neighbourhood and is pleased to share his first collection of ten short stories with readers who enjoy tales tall and true.

Dedication

For my wife, Laraine, with love.

Copyright Information ©

Philip Rintoul (2021)

The right of Philip Rintoul to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528986489 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528986496 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2021)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Acknowledgement

Many thanks to the editors and staff of Austin Macauley Publishers and to my family and friends for their encouragement.

Wedge-Tail

Clarice and I had flown half way around the world for her to meet my parents in Perth. We were feted, fed, entertained and fussed over by my family who were happy we had ‘tied the knot’.

After a week we took ourselves off for a marvellous trip to the food and wine country in the south west and lobbed up, on the final stage of our holiday, at the beach.

We rented a three-bedroom beach house south of Perth for one week. It was too big but was beachy, clean and cool, with open westerly views across the scrubby heath to the yellow sand beach and the ocean. Weather was balmy, with sunrise about 5 am and sunset at 7 pm. We planned our trip for November to avoid December to March summer, which I vaguely remembered from my boyhood, was hot and dry. The first two days we slept in until eight o’clock, but yesterday, our third day, our body clocks had adjusted and we meandered around sightseeing and doing nothing in particular.

Yesterday had been a hot 38o C. Hardly a morning breeze stirred the beach umbrella. By late morning the wind turned blustery and swept the sand along the beach and drove us across the heath to our house. We had a cold beer each, lunched on sandwiches filled with ham and salad, read the newspapers and snoozed during the heat of the afternoon. The ‘sea doctor’ blew in about four o’clock and cooled the air. We sipped tea, rather than coffee, watching the sea horses – those tiny white capped waves stirred by the afternoon sea breeze – and wondered how the deep blue of the calm morning sea had changed to the broken emerald sea of the afternoon. The sun hung bright and high. We lazed, canoodled and felt happily rested. Towards evening a few joggers and people walking their dogs passed on the path in front of our house. Finally, the red sun dropped over the horizon. We sat on the patio at the granite table on cane chairs, sipping chilled white wine, feasting on fresh prawns and salad. The stars twinkled in the night sky and the orange glare of the rising moon reflected onto black sea beating onto the beach. We moved inside for warmth, watched television, then went to bed early to make love. Outside, the waves thumped onto the beach, the sea doing its work, twenty-four hours each day, every day.

Today the morning breeze barely rippled the deep blue of the ocean. We walked along the cool sandy track to the beach through the fifty metres of heath. Later, in the heat of the day, the scrubby heath exuded a pleasant tangy scent. We trod carefully, recalling that on our first day we noticed crawl marks across the sandy track. Bill, our friendly neighbour, had cheerfully explained, A belly gouge with small indentations either side is probably a bob tail goanna, or if it’s a wriggle belly gouge, it’s probably a snake, lookin’ for food and sex. He gave a little grin.

Our grey-haired neighbour added, If you see a snake, leave it alone. It’s probably venomous, an’ if it’s yellowy green, it’s a dugite. It’s probably more scared than you. An’ the bob tails have a blue tongue an’ rear up at you. He considered, then, They’re pretty small but can give a nasty bite. They won’t kill you…

Most mornings, before eight, a dolphin pod broke water, swimming parallel to the beach. Their elongated brown dorsal fins poked up, followed by their sweeping shiny brown backs, as they chased and herded shoals of small fish. On the first morning we were alarmed, game enough to wet our feet in the spent waves, and remained on the beach.

We asked Bill about sharks. Never seen one around here. Safe as houses in this bay. Plenty of food for them out in the deep…although, last Christmas, a four-metre big white was spotted over at the reef, he pointed to the waves breaking near a light buoy about two kilometres off shore. He advised us to slip, slop, slap, which meant plaster on sun screen to stop sun burn. Bill added, with a smile, Clarice and Brad, keep an eye out for the wedgy, and left it at that.

Bill was very good to tell us those tit bits. We two New Yorkers must have looked greatly impressed about the tales of the wild life. We considered the possibilities of Bill’s ‘probably’ and resolved to tread carefully. Bill was bemused by our untanned whiteness and a little fascinated by our accents.

This morning the sun rose quickly so that the shade from the sand dunes abutting the heath was disappearing like a slow-motion film. We sat with arms folded over our drawn-up knees, warmed by the sun on our backs, watching the small waves hit the beach. A few minutes later we ran in for a quick dip, then, after the swim, lay face up on our towels, energised, happy, breathing the salt air.

The quietness was disturbed by the rhythmic flop of the waves onto the beach. We had the beach to ourselves, except for a dozen teenage lifesavers who were practising with their boat near the groyne, about half a kilometre away, to our left. The groyne, built from solid limestone boulders dumped together to form the breakwater between the south and north beach where we were, was used by rod fishermen at dawn or early evening. We saw them catch wriggling tailor or small sand whiting which we were told were good eating. Blowies were thrown back as feed for their own kind. Not that we had tried rod fishing or possessed the casting skills required to haul in a fish. The fishermen we had seen cast their lines with ease.

The dolphins were absent. Probably feeding elsewhere.

The brilliant light blue sky was framed by white cumulus clouds scudding along the horizons to the south and north. The void above was suddenly filled by the appearance of a huge eagle.

It measured over two metres wing tip to wing tip, coasting in circles on the morning thermals. Rich brown, flecked feathers extended over its wings, which were balanced in flight by its large fanned wedge tail. The curved beak was housed in a fierce face intent on finding a meal. Sometimes it circled at an angle and would be lost in the blue sky. Seconds later, it turned on its angle and was seen in all its primitive beauty. Behold this bird of prey!

We both edged to half sit, resting on our elbows. On its outer turn over the sea, we sat bolt upright, fixated, as it wheeled through the sky.

It circled overhead for several minutes, then finding nothing to catch, winged further north, repeating the same drill. Soon it dived, wings partly folded, touched water, then climbed quickly with a fish in its talons. Wedge-tail gained height and disappeared high over the heath, back to its nest and its chick.

Home in New York, in our bedsitter one week later, on a cold, dark evening, we stood looking out of our window, watching the first flakes of snow. Opposite, our resident hawk nested high up under a protective ledge. We were both a bit wistful as we each sipped a nice glass of red.

Do think our hawk thinks of its Australian cousin?

If only!

Neck and Neck

It was an accidental purchase, not one a normally prudent accountant like Claude would make. It was a beautiful wrist watch, with satin stainless steel, dark blue face, simple silver hands and minute markings, and set behind a scratch proof crystal glass. It was analogue rather than digital, which resulted from Claude’s subconscious resistance to his world of desk top computers, form filling, lodging taxation returns and digital everything. Although he did not recognise the choice of analogue over digital was a subconscious decision, he thought consciously that he was in a hurry, and the watch was Just what I need.

That was Tuesday last week and the purchase had a history.

Claude maintained a progressive practice where he leased a suite of two rooms, ensuite and reception area on the fifth floor of an office tower in St George’s Terrace. He had a very good reputation for compliance matters and was a stickler for accuracy. Many clients and friends had said, not unkindly, He must have kept his first dollar! He employed a small core staff of three and staff turnover averaged one in three every year. Annual salary reviews were a little parsimonious. He drove a fifteen-year-old car, which said a lot about Claude, and a lot about the car.

Gillian, wife of twenty years, was